


A late night in Wisconsin.

by nothingbutfic



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4915543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingbutfic/pseuds/nothingbutfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's always been true to higher causes. Family is the highest of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A late night in Wisconsin.

**Author's Note:**

> Set some years post-X3.

There was too little patience in his soul and too much grandeur in his bones. The man flicked open the lighter, and called forth flame: “Burn,” John commanded, verbalising it even though he didn’t have to, and in the night, the fire blossomed and consumed the rough shack.

In a few moments all there was, was ash. All the files, the computer backups, the communications systems, the money. Gone, done, dust.

His gait was comfortable as he strode back to the younger man, trussed up like a Christmas turkey with his hands behind his back and his ankles tied.

John found him crying, nose running and face blackened with soot and smoke. He didn’t seem to expect any sympathy from his captor and John offered him none. “What did the fuck did you think you were doing?” he asked simply, with a little shake of his head. “Sitting here in the back end of Wisconsin, plotting to take down an Omega-class mutant?”

When he got no answer, John reached down and thwacked the man, hard, across the side of the face. Blue eyes gazed up at him, and that just made John hate him more.

“We thought-” the young man snivelled, and John felt absolutely no fucking compassion, none, “we thought he would make a good example-”

John grabbed him by the scruff of the shirt then, leaned in close, so close, to look at those eyes he _almost_ knew, the face he kind-of-recognised, simply encouraging his anger. John shook him then, and didn’t care if that made him snivel again, snot running down over his mouth. “I could start a revolution in my pyjamas better than this effort of yours,” he told the other man, voice low, firm, just the touch of a threatening growl under his tone, “and I’ve killed more people than you could even _contemplate_ , so if the Friends of Humanity starts this thing, and picks Bobby Drake as it’s target, it will not end well.”

“And mutants like _you_ are exactly the reason we need to-”

John slapped him hard across the face before he knew what he was doing, that old condemnation bringing forth rage quicker and colder than he remembered, and it _sang_ in him. Every morning he woke up and kissed his husband, and every morning he did not do this.

But this was not every morning.

“Go ahead,” John offered, and there was something more than cruel in his eyes, something delighted at the possibility of violence. He pulled out his lighter and tossed it from hand to hand. “Call me Pyro. It’s been a while. I am _sick_ of you fuckers and I will reduce you to char if you give me _one simple excuse_ and Bobby will never know.”

Turning away, John forced himself to breathe. This wasn’t him any more, this wasn’t who he was; he was just the angry academic who wrote blistering conference papers that no one outside the ivory tower gave a crap about and did the school run for the kids most days and was excellent at cooking and campfires and constructive things, so why, why this, did it mean he’d learned nothing at all-

His captive called out something as John staggered away: “We thought he’d be unprotected, that no one would be watching out for him!” His voice went a bit higher as he realised he was about to be left in the middle of the woods in the middle of nowhere for some time. “He’s not even a part of the X-Men anymore-”

And John found his reason, something that went beyond being Pyro, beyond simply enjoying _power_. No-one had died and no-one _needed_ to die and the flame, like his anger, could be pure. “You stupid little pissant,” John told him, over his shoulder, but didn’t bother to look. “He has _me_ , Ronny, he’s _always_ had me. And if you thought an old, faded Alpha-class nutjob like me was nothing to worry about, well, you got rogered and without any lube.” He started walking again.

The mutant was gone maybe five feet when Ronny called out to him: “You tried to kill him once.”

John’s spine stiffened at that, before he finally let out a snort: this was all the kid had going for him? He’d learned better mind games on Erik’s knee. “Yeah, and then I learned not to be so stupid. Now do yourself a favor and consider your extremely bad life choices before the next Drake family Christmas.”


End file.
